The Amusement Rides Poem by Robert Rorabeck

It is happening in the cul-de-sacs in which all of the housewives
Spume:
Birthing new likely cadavers into the worlds from the shopping
Malls of womb-
It is happening like the sweet end that gladdens like espionage
Like sunlight across the amusement rides between
Two related mountains- swaying through the fruit trees
Who lounge in the sated glades like tourists all too happy to
Never have known her summits;
And it is a ride I gladly take with my paper dolls and marionettes;
They are of a finely selected sorority, but they always
Keep me company- across the playgrounds and the soccer
Fields,
The kilns of muses sent to the elements: as Alma basks her infantile
Shoulders beneath the lumber mills of all of the elements;
And sings herself to sleep over songs of her beauty, her infantile
Daughter nuzzling up to her, like a hungry bird up
To a water fountain in the hallways of an abandoned high school
Long after classes have started, mimicking,
And singing back to her across a millennium of trailer parks and
Plantations, echoing and re-echoing, I am sure, with the same
Exact eyes as her mother.